A Touch of Red
by Allana690
Summary: One yearned to be able to feel. One yearned to be loved. Can William ever love Grell? The way Grell wanted to be loved? Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1 Appearances

Green eyes blinked in the light spilling from the window. They shut immediately, as if denying the fact that morning had arrived once again. As the light persisted to irritate the closed eyelids the owners hands went up to gently brush his hair out of his face. The fingers where careful so that no strands where broken as they caught in a tangle. One eye squinted open to take in the rich red color. Sighing, the body was shifted to lay on the stomach, away from the offending light.

Oh this would not do, he would be late for work. Again. A scolding was fun once a while but not every day. With a dejected posture the body was force to comply and rise from the warm sheets. Long crimson hair fell around him as he took a few wary steps. Slowly the lithely figure stretched and yawned loudly.

Bathroom, yes, he needed to make himself beautiful for the long day ahead. No one was allowed to lay their eyes on his disheveled appearance as it was now. Light steps passed a huge mirror hanging on the wall and piles of papers led to the destination. Cold water, to wash away the sleepiness, was greeted with a small shudder. Nimble fingers pulled the delicate night garment over the flood of red hair and tossed it aside. It landed forgotten in a corner, its owner too absorbed by his own appearance now to care for such decorations. It was no longer needed.

The bright green eyes ran over the pale skin, searching for any offending imperfection. The long legs where smooth, the body lacking any unwanted presence of hair altogether. In contrast the hair adoring his head was long and silky, flowing down covering his back completely. It was flicked over the shoulder as ointments and powders of color where applied to the face. Eyes accentuated with black and red pigment, lips fussily made to look fuller. The cheekbones highlighted with precision and hair brushed to perfection. Now he could look at himself in the mirror. Careful fingers put on his glasses just so. Adjusting the chain resting on his shoulders attached to them until the small skulls hung just right. A sharp smile was flashed at the reflection before the bottles and brushes were forgotten as the mission led to the wardrobe.

He looked at himself in the huge mirror as dark pants, white shirt and fitted brown vest was applied to adore his frame. A small twirl to inspect that the fabrics hugged to the right places before the hip chain was attached to the hip and the sleeve garters pulled tight so they would not slip down. A ribbon was tied around the slim neck and done over again until it was perfect. The feet were covered with elegant red heels, adding to his height. Black gloves pulled over his long red painted nails and hands. Lastly a beloved red coat came to rest on his elbows, billowing around his body.

His eyes trailed over his work. Now his outside matches his inside. Just as beautiful and vibrant. Just as free. Though that was not true. Not at all. A glance was cast to the open wardrobe, landing on a black suit and tie. And a longer black coat. The door was shut. Closing them in, hiding them from sight, denying them.

The smile faded and hands grasped the fabric at his waist pulling it tighter, willing it to shape his body differently. Such a mistake, why didn't his body correspond to his mind? How would it have been if it had? Would his life be any better, different? He doubted that. Letting go of the fabric he made sure it lay smoothly before he left. No, these thought were absurd, he was beautiful, anyone would be lucky to step in his presence. Anyone bestowed with his love should consider themselves lucky. As should they if he accepted theirs in return. Yes, he would choose who to love, and get love in return. Love for who he was, what he was, and nothing else, he would never compromise himself for this. And he already found that person. Even if that person did not love him back. Yet.

* * *

><p>The light spilled on the perfectly made bed. He had been up for some time. There was work and therefore no point in staying in bed longer than necessary. Glasses were carefully placed on the bridge of the nose, always, as soon as he got up. And as such they had been there for some time. Green eyes stared back at the reflection. A cold stare, a never changing expression. A pale face, not anything out of the ordinary, framed by dark hair. It had a tendency to fall down his forehead if he did not manage it properly. It was frustrating. Out of set rules he had made. It was combed back with meticulousness, out of the eyes, to lay unoffending on top of the head. He could not be seen with anything in his appearance out of order. It would not do. A few more strokes just to make sure the hair would stay in place. Just a few.<p>

The suit had already been laid out on the bed. A check to make sure they were in pristine condition. As he put his shirt, pants, tie and vest on he made sure they did not get any creases. With them on his frame he felt sure of himself, what to do, how to act, what he was. But also almost confined. Trapping him. With them on there was no room for mistakes, to be anything but the role he had. Absurd, it did not matter; the jacket was applied with ease and the gloves with an almost absentminded air.

A last inspection in the mirror by the door just to make sure the hair was still in place. Make sure the clothes hung properly on his body. Make sure the glasses were correctly placed.  
>No emotion, that was required for work, show no emotion. When you had no one to show emotions for this was very easy to maintain. His cold gaze met the reflection. Very easy indeed. He was not even sure he could any more. Not that it mattered. There was no one so it had no consequence.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2 Longing

Red hair flowed free as he sauntered through the office space. He had a destination in mind as he had every day. Deep down he was sure it was appreciated. That it was a moment eagerly awaited upon. That it held a special meaning for the one he chose to see every day without fail. Every day. For months, years, centuries. Of course he would never show it. But there was always the glimmer of hope that one day, hopefully soon, he would. Admit that a touch of red, that emotions, that _he _was longed for.

He smiled to himself, today would surely be a perfect day. If not yesterday or the day before, surely today. It had to. A glimpse of the one he adored met his eyes, a tall man, clad in a flawless black suit, as always. Glasses in front of cold green eyes, eyes that could see into his soul. Gloved hands, always gloved, holding papers, lots of papers, flipping through them with a sense of deep concentration. O how he longed to know how those hand felt. But no he could not get distracted, even if it was delightful to dwell on these fantasies of his.

His gaze shifted to the surroundings of his beloved. Standing next to him was that woman. Again. As she had for months now, handing him papers, taking notes. And he looked at her. Not with the disappointed glare he would give him, the tired, indifferent one he was granted. No, with a sense of gratitude. Why? What did she have he did not? O please look at me, only me, look at me like that, love me, only me.

She was so dull, brown hair and dark clothes. He didn't even remember her name, but he was sure he could make her beautiful. Painted in red everything was beautiful. Not as beautiful as he was, naturally, but more appealing never the less. Would anyone notice that she was gone? A grin spread across his features. How dare she take what is mine, she would pay.

"Can I help you Sutcliff? Or are you going to neglect you work once again?" His eyes quickly shifted back to the dark haired man. Still the eyes where fixed on the papers, shifting through them. A few steps and he planted himself in front of his supervisor, acting as a barrier between him and the woman. Look at me.

"O, but I only wanted to see you Will, you are far too handsome not to look at" he said with a hint of flirtatiousness. Hips shifted just so, hair flickered over the shoulder to highlight the contrast between hair color and skin. Eyes shining with happiness. Look at me.

"I am more than certain you have looked quite enough, I kindly ask you to go back to your work assignments." Short, to the point, a reasonable request. It hurt, a dismissal, unwanted. Look at me.

Grin still in place, a few steps and he draped one arm around his shoulders, the other gently tracing the suit jacket's collar. Hurt hidden beneath teasing, desperation hidden beneath confidence. "I can never look at you enough" almost whispered, eyes quickly glaring at the woman. Mine.

A small sigh, rustling of papers as they were put under one arm. A small push of the shoulder, he was asked to let go. A small shifting of the body and he had no other choice. "Sutcliff do your work, I have no wish to work overtime on your behalf once again". A cold glare was cast his way. It sent shiver down his spine, but it was yet again a disappointed one. Don't go, don't leave me. William, his beloved William, nodded shortly to the woman and they went to his office. As the door closed the grin left his face, his eyes went dead. Please, just love me.

* * *

><p>His desk was organized to perfection. As were the papers, folders and office supplies. Tired eyes read through yet another report. This had been going on for months. Report after report, papers upon papers to sign, fill out. Most of them involved one of his subordinates, the redheaded Sutcliff. How that man could have been so idiotic as to murder humans was beyond him. How he could have flirted with a filthy...no matter. What mattered was the paperwork. The London Division couldn't spare a single dispatcher, hence Sutcliff had to stay. Which proved more than difficult. He had requested assistance in the matter and had been granted with a secretary for the time being. A hearing was scheduled, no need to tell the accused, he would only make matters worse.<p>

Now he only hoped the redhead would do his work for a change, not give them another reason to fire him. He would defend him, as he always had, he would never admit that he did, yet he had. He would. Ridiculous.

Paper after paper was completed and handed over, instruction where to take them were given and the secretary left. Silence. Calm. No shrill voice and invading of personal space. Loneliness.


	3. Chapter 3 Memories

_A/N - I just want to thank everyone for the reviews, it warms my heart that you like my fic, since it is my first. Thank you! And a special thanks to hellcat272 for proofreading chapter 1-3. _

* * *

><p>Yellow and red leaves were slowly replaced with white, pure snow. It slowly drifted down from the sky and landed softly on the ground. Hiding what was beneath. Like he did, like he always had. It would have been so simple, just say a few words and what he felt would be known. But he couldn't. A rejection to that would be too much, no better to remain silent. Eyes looked out of the window. Out on the white snow. Today was a special day, a truly special day. He had become a full-fledged shinigami all those years ago on this day. And he had been overtaken, beaten, made submissive…A gloved hand brushed through the long red hair.<p>

The focus shifted from the scenery to his desk. On it a small thin box had been placed. The content had been lovingly selected over days. With utmost care. With hope. It was covered in the most beautiful red paper, he had made it himself. Painfully colored it. The intricate ribbon had taken days to perfect. Now there it was, the result of his labor. A token, hopefully understood.

It was picked up carefully and held gently so the paper would not wrinkle as he walked over to the supervisor's office. As his habit was he did not knock. He never had, never would. Emptiness greeted him. It was an unfamiliar sight to see the office without its owner. He didn't like it. Abandoned, forgotten. The present was placed on the desk and one of the chairs was occupied soon after. Red hair spilled over the back of it. He would wait. Yes, not long until he came back. After all he had waited for so long, a little more would not matter. Gloves were removed and nails begun to be formed into perfection.

The light coming from the windows dimmed and eventually diminished altogether. The gloves lay forgotten on his lap. The nails perfected hours ago. His eyes stared straight ahead. They only registered the gift placed on the table. A touch of red among white papers. A touch of red….

A single, unwanted, tear left his eye and made its way along his cheek. Angrily he brushed it away. Pathetic. The chair was abandoned and he stood, putting the gloves back on. Yes he would leave it, it would be received with gratitude he was sure of it. Make his dear William understand what he meant to him. Surely. This time it had to.

As he left he closed the door cautiously and began to walk out of the office. Hair and coat billowing behind him as he made his way to the entrance. He felt tired, he needed to go home, needed to rest. He listened to his heels clicking against the floor; the sound was reassuring, always there. Voices were suddenly heard over the sound of his moving feet. A painfully familiar voice. A voice he would kill to have directed at him. Only him. To speak gently and lovingly to him. Only him.

An exhausted William was speaking to _her_. That bitch. He would rip her throat out, make her bleed, watch her….his ears caught words he didn't want to be uttered to any other. "Thank you." And then his heart broke. "Don't tell Sutcliff."

He backed away, felt his chest tighten, his head felt heavy. The carefully painted eyes where smeared and his cheeks marked with black. Had to get home, had to be alone, no one, no one must see him like this. Ever.

* * *

><p>The day had been long, the hearing, a test of his ability. It had gone better than he had hoped for. All his preparations had not been wasted. It had made them see, had made them agree to let Sutcliff stay. Once again.<p>

Before he went back to his office he made sure to properly express his gratitude to the secretary for her help. And a small reminder not to mention the matter to Sutcliff. It would be better if he didn't know. It could only upset him. He already knew he had made a grave error in killing those humans. Not that he cared if Sutcliff was upset, no, not at all. Then why….absurd. It did not matter.

He entered his office with a sigh, determined to get home as soon as possible. His desk had piles of paper adoring it and among them a…red package. He picked it up and turned it over. It had no note on it, but the color was all that was needed to know who had placed it there. It was outrageous. Why would a subordinate give, he suppose it was a gift of some sort, to a superior? Fingers touched the paper. Surely he had not given him this because it was…

A light knock on the door, the package quickly hidden from view. Placed under some papers so it could not be seen. The secretary again, papers forgotten and not handed over. Unprofessional, he took them and placed them on the table, asking her to leave once more. She insisted to take some of the finished ones with her, throwing the unnecessary papers away by his desk. It earned her an irritated glare. Then she left him alone. In peace.

He glanced over the new papers and signed them, absorbed in his work once more. Time passed and he forgot what he had been doing before he was interrupted, He glanced at the clock and finally headed home.  
>He did not see the touch of red in his wastepaper basket. A lonely touch of red.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4 Wishes

Black streaks adore his cheeks; the tears had long since stopped, still, they marked his face. He stared at the offending contrast against his pale, white skin. A slightly trembling hand holding a cloth angrily whipped the face. It needed to be clean, needed to be white, needed to be perfect. Always perfect.

He was beautiful, why could his beloved not see that? Smooth skin, red hair, long lashes, a smile to die for. Truly beautiful. The cloth was thrown against the wall, forgotten. Long fingers ran over a flat chest, narrow hips. Was that the reason? Did he prefer her over him because of this? Surely curves did not matter that much. They could not. No of course they didn't. Hands pressed against his waist, forcing it to be thinner. Fingers trailed lower, brushing his crotch. Of course it could always be because, despite curves, she did have something he didn't. Trailing higher now, against the flat stomach, something he could never have. He would have killed to have the ability to make life, he had killed. If he could not make life he could end it. Not the same, not the same at all.

A quick glance was thrown to the wardrobe. A black suit, unused for decades. It was accompanied by a similar one, one he had worn during work before he found his beautiful red coat. But the disregarded black suit, he had worn it in the Academy. He had sworn never to wear it again. Memories stirred. Wonderful memories, painful memories, memories was all he had now. He had looked at him back then, he had spoken to him like an equal, he had touched him. He had taken him from the front, from behind, the sides….Maybe if he….No, he had sworn to himself he would never wear it again. Even with heels on and the longer black coat it was not enough, it wasn't feminine enough, it didn't make him feel feminine enough.

But if he couldn't make William looked at him like he was what must he do? His long luscious hair, his painted eyes, his perfectly sculptured fingernails. What more was required? He took outmost care in his appearance, nothing was left unattended. What more did he want? A sinking feeling, a touch to the face, a sharp intake of breath. He was not a woman.

Why should it matter? Why wasn't he enough the way he was? Why couldn't he see that he would do anything? But he didn't see did he? He only saw her. Only talked gently to her. Only listened to her. A flash in the green eyes. He was mine. Is mine. Mine back then and mine now. If I can't have him, no one will have him. Fingers grabbing long red hair. Red. He would make sure no one else could have him, he would make sure he would look at him, make sure he saw him. A sweet tragic scene, to kill the one most loved to keep him. To kill to make sure he belonged to him, him alone. Paint his handsome features with the most beautiful red color. Make him be the last thing he ever saw. Cold eyes, always sending chills through him, always making him lose himself, always making him happy beyond reason. Cold eyes that would fade and die. Never to look at him again.

Fingers running down his slim neck, so easy to break. He could not live without those cold green eyes. But if he only looked at him, only at him. He would, tomorrow he would. He would open the gift and he would understand. He had to believe he would understand, this time. See the care that had been put into it, see the love put into it, see his soul put into it. Yes it would all be better tomorrow. A small smile across his face, a small smile of hope.

* * *

><p>Gloved hand through dark hair. It had to be in place, had to be controlled, had to be restricted. Sometimes he wished...it did not have to be. Clothes tight around his frame, holding him in, holding everything in. It was too late to wish for it not to be like that.<p>

A gentle, weary shifting of the body onto the bed. Eyes closing, not wishing to see the bleak, colorless room. Underneath it all, underneath all the behavior, the personality, the learnt way of being, was feelings. Rarely did he let them out. They had to be in place, controlled, restricted. Sometimes it was as if he could not feel them at all. He wanted to feel. Desperately wanted to feel. Yet...he could not let go. Let go of his life as it was, his role as it was, his loneliness at it was.

Today had been a special day, had it not? His mind was so exhausted, hard to concentrate. Glasses, he had been given glasses. Focus, he had become a full-fledge shinigami years ago on this day. That's why today was special. And so had Sutcliff, always so happy, always so intriguing, always so free. Everything he wanted to be, everything he could not be.

Head slowly leaning back against the soft pillow, sleep close now. Sutcliff...always red...red...something…something red...on a desk with white papers...body shifting again...a gift...given to him...and he had nothing to give in return...a beautiful red gift...it would be there when he got back...


	5. Chapter 5 Confrontation

White walls skidded past as he made his way down the corridors. Heart fluttering in anticipation. Eyes sparkling with joy, body almost not able to contain its energy. He must have opened it by now, he must have seen, he must have understood. A smile crept onto his face, widening as he drew closer. And he would finally be able to touch him, kiss him, love him, live with him, have his children, grow old with him. A small pink hue colored his cheeks.

As always he opened the door without permission. As always his eyes went straight to the collected cold man behind the desk. As always he felt his heart soar.

"Good morning Will~", said with a huge smile, with adoration. No time wasted until he stood in front of the desk, shifting his body just so, hand on hip, a loving look through thick lashes.

"Good morning Sutcliff, can I help you?", asked as a matter of fact, eyes never leaving the papers.

Smile still held in place, lashes batting. "O, I missed you. And I just wanted to make sure you got my little present, I had so wanted to see you rip it open, claiming the content". A small smirk, a small blush.

A small hesitation, a characteristic push of the glasses, a small clearing of the throat. "Yes I did receive a package yesterday, I assume it was from you due to its coloring. Unfortunately work kept me from opening it and now I am afraid it's…"

"O so my dear William took it home with him? How perfect. But of course you wanted to have your privacy when you ravished my gift" a deeper blush now, a suggestive move of the hand along the hip.

"Not at all, I have no wish to "ravish" anything of yours", eyes finally looking up at him, a frown across the face. Finally he was looking at him. His heart was pounding in his chest, breathe coming a little faster.

"But I missed my William, work's so dull and boring, not like you at all", the words stressed with a beaming smile and a swaying of hips, a walk around the desk, avoiding the wastepaper basket. A hand slowly reaching up to touch his face, eyes cast down in feigned coyness. A touch of red...

Body freezing, smile disappearing, the hand changing course to gingerly pushing away some papers hiding the loving gift. Head turned up to look at the man sitting by the desk. A look of hurt, sorrow, misery. A look turning to irritation, anger, fury. The hand held back, finger held straight, connecting with the handsome face in front of him. Turning the pale skin red. "You bastard" snarled out between sharp teeth. "Do they mean nothing to you, our memories together, our anniversary?". Rage making the words come out harsh and loud.

Cold eyes looking at him with a hint of shock. "I fail to see how those memories would be any different from any other Sutcliff", a gloved hand coming up to capture his trembling one as he swung it towards his face again. "And don't injure one of your superiors; it would not look good in your report. Do try to behave yourself."

A violent tug to free his hand, granted so fast he almost fell backwards. Anger still boiling in him, begging for him to tear something, making something bleed, kill something. A slow step towards the uncaring man before him, meet with a cold gaze and a disappointed frown. Don't look at me like that; look at me with adoration, with happiness, with love.

A kick to the offending wastepaper basket and he stormed out, slamming the door open, a blurry flight to his own office. His door clicking loudly as he locked it.

* * *

><p>A sigh as he stood up and walked over to close the door. Closing out everything outside it, closing out the peering subordinates, closing out the infuriated redhead.<p>

Once again a hand lifted to make sure the hair was still in place. Eyes closing for a moment, just a moment. As they opened they landed on the papers littering the floor. With great care not to wrinkles his pants he knelt down to set the basket upright. Fingers picked up scattered papers and placed them in their rightful place. Lastly only a red battered package lay on his beige carpet. Fingers brushed over it gently before picking it up and laying it on the desk. Papers removed around it to make sure it was not accidently removed again.

He had looked for it when he came to his office, he had looked at his desk, had looked under the papers spread on it. Knowing that he had put it on his desk and not moved it he was surprised when it was no longer there. He assumed Sutcliff had taken it back.

It had been meticulously wrapped and the ribbon had been absurdly intricate. A long time must have been spent to make it look like that. Now the corners where slightly torn and the ribbon hung limply, a little shredded. For a long time he looked at it, just looked. After what had happened he did not wish to open it, not now. It was placed at the side of the desk, on top his calendar. No matter if someone saw it. No matter since it didn't mean anything anymore. No matter at all...

He was soon absorbed in his work once more, a small glance to the side once in a while, a small glance at the door, a silent wish for it to open. It did not. Work, there was always work. The only thing he had.


	6. Chapter 6 Changes

_A/N I want to once again thank everyone for the lovely reviews, I really really appreciate them. And a special thank you to Cullen-Girl-4-Life for proofreading from chapter 4.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Blue clear water filled the bathtub. Water slowly ripping against the sides of it. Fingers breaking the surface, savoring the feel of the damp coldness. Would it not be a marvelous end to drown? O how romantic it would be, surly worthy of Shakespeare. A drowned maiden caused by love, like dear Ophelia. Fingers trailed the water, hair spilling over his should to land in the clear liquid. It floated on top of it, beautiful and soft, until it was made heavy by the water and sank. It was not beautiful anymore. He stood up and examined the wet strings of hair. Not beautiful at all. Now it just hung limp and cold, not free and vibrant. With a dismissive flick of his wrist it was placed over the shoulder once more.<p>

This was insane; a small giggle left his mouth, insane. His body would not be submitted to anything that would not make it beautiful. He had no wish to die, not deep down, deep down he wanted to live, to feel, to breathe.

His hand went to his heart instead. Was it still beating? How odd, surely when a heart broke it would stop beating all together. But it was beating. He had always prided himself on being free. Free to do what he wanted, say what he wanted, be what he wanted. But he was not free, his love held him by an unrelenting red string. Nails dug into his chest, he had to be free of William, his beloved William, his uncaring William, not his at all. Free.

Damp eyes were lifted to the mirror hanging above his bathroom sink. No cosmetics adored his face, no mask to hide behind. He did not want to hide anymore, wanted to express what was in his heart, wanted to be able to say what he always had wanted. A snarl, a voice of fury. No he would be what he was, not let anyone make him be anything different. If they tried he would kill them, make them pay for their rudeness in blood. Free.

The damp hair hung down on his back, weighing him down. Making him trapped in himself, as he was, what he felt, what had happened. His dear William. The water was let out of the bathtub, now dry eyes looked at his reflection. Eyes of determination. Free.

The only time he could recall being free was back before he graduated. Before he meet...It had felt good, not being tied down by love, not tied down by yearning for someone else. Only love for himself. A steady hand gripped his hair. It flooded through his fingers, caressed his back, shone vibrantly. He needed to let go, let go of how he wished he could be, let go of his unrequited love. Free.

Strands of red long hair fell to the ground, gathered around his feet. It tickled. Years of longing, hoping, chasing. Gone. It was made quickly, almost as if the speed would take the pain away faster. Strand after strand. His feet were no longer visible, covered in red. Such a beautiful color. He did not look at himself when it was finished. Only knelt down to pick up the hair, strand after strand, careful, lovingly. It was put away, inside a bag, hidden. Could the longing, the hope be cut from his heart as well?

His head felt lighter, colder, different. Without realizing how he was back in his bedroom, in front of the huge mirror that hung there. Eyes glances up through red bangs. Continued to stare. Light faded, went dark. Legs grew tired and knees bent. Body slowly shifted to the ground. Eyes stared. Free.

* * *

><p>Gloveless hand held the package. He could not bring himself to open it. A small part of him wanted to remember Sutcliff as he had been, not as he was. And this gift, a gift to celebrate their graduation was an end to that. For him it was, in some small way, the only thing he had left of his time before he became what he was now. Less responsibility, less stress, less need to not feel. He needed this to remember, remember a time when he could feel in some small way. It needed to be untouched, unspoiled, something to keep forever.<p>

His mind went to Sutcliff, he did not wish for it to do so, yet it did. He remembered a young man that had been relentless, uncompromising and violent. He had been a challenge. A challenge to figure out, to work with. Exciting.

Now he was still the same, but he had changed. He was different around him, the challenge put forth was a different one. Not a question of who was better, but of something he could not put his finger on. He did not understand him.

It had been refreshing to battle with someone for dominance, to prove which one of them was better, knew more, had the best judgment, the strongest will.

Fingers traced the paper and ribbon once more. It looked like it had been wrapped so lovingly. Love. Ridiculous. Sutcliff flirted with everyone. Even filthy demons. Of course he flirted with him as well. He had back then, he did now. That had not changed. With that behavior it was no surprise he had never had a serious relationship. Not that he cared or wanted to know. Of course not. He doubted he even could have that. He was to impulsive. But then again he did not care. Not at all.

The red-wrapped gift was placed on a small table in his living room, a touch of red among his bleak belongings. Making a vast contrast. Standing out. Beautiful. Why couldn't he be like that?

* * *

><p><em>AN - Have no fear, Grell has his Academy haircut, just wanted to point that out _


	7. Chapter 7 Distractions

Purple and golden chain was placed at the hip. The round balls of glass had been taken cared of for centuries. High heeled shoes, laced with black, colored in red, worn until they were part of the wearer's feet. Without them it would not have been the same. As the glasses they had been part of his uniform since his first day as a shinigami.

Long lashes, no longer accompanied by eye shadow, but still long black lashes framed green eyes. Eyes filled with irritation. As he walked through the offices to his own he shot glares at all those daring to look at him with a sense that anything was out of the ordinary. Short hair now, short red hair. He was still beautiful, more beautiful than any of them.

The black of the suit highlighted the color of his hair amazingly well. Why he worn it he didn't know. No, not true, he didn't want to think about it. Since he needed to let go. Needed a new beginning. Needed to be what he had been. And yet, yet he wore the uniform he had worn together with his supervisor when they graduated. The longer black overcoat was made of a rich velvet. Expensive. Classy. It was as if he wore his memories on his body now. Plain for all to see, all those who knew them.

It would be easy to let go, he just needed a distraction. Something else to occupy his mind. Something else. Someone else. He snapped at everyone who dared to speak to him. Most of them looked scared, Ronald looked a little taken aback. Look if you want, if you dare say anything, in any way make fun of me, try to make me be something else, I'll kill you. All of you. Paint everything red. A lovely red.

The ordinary route past his supervisor's office was not taken today, but rather to his own instead. All the reaping had been done, no other business outside the cramped office. None at all. Such a shame. It was dull, boring and didn't have a touch of red anywhere. A distraction, yes he needed a distraction. Fingers touched piles of white paper. Paperwork. Never completed. Always asked to be done. Always.

Body was settled behind the small desk on the chair. If he didn't want his supervisor to show up, to graze his presence, to talk to him, he had to do the paperwork. It was the only thing William ever bothered to visit his office for. For the paperwork. Only the paperwork. Never him. Well, he would not have a reason to visit his office any more then, would he?

Focused eyes and mind went to work, bored senseless but determined to complete the plan. Swift hands filled in the papers, made the piles grow smaller by the hour. Mind screaming out for something more exciting to do. Pushed back. Mind dulled down to the point when it no longer cared. Why go outside the office at all? Why flirt mindlessly with his colleagues? Why try at all? Well not today anyway. A small smile across the face. Not today.

He was growing tired of papers. When he got out of here he would burn a few. But not yet. Word after word was written, report after report was filed, signature after signature was signed. As the mountain of unfinished work had lessen to half its size he sat back. Yawned loudly, stretched his body, cracked his neck.

Boredom settled in, incredible boredom. A frown now spread across his face. Gloves were removed and nail file brought out. He needed to be perfect. The file slipped, scratches his skin, making it bleed a little. Pain. A smile, turned into a grin, a soft laugh. The file replaced by a pair of small scissors, only to cut the offending skin around the nails of course, nothing else. He slipped again. O my, how clumsy. A giggle. Pain.

* * *

><p>Eyes glanced at the clock at the wall. Something was off, different about today. It annoyed him that he could not figure out what it was. Papers were handed to him, the secretary was still here. Her help was no longer needed, not after the hearing was over, but she had insisted to stay. He could not understand why. Yet more papers.<p>

As everyday he set to work with his full concentration, his full focus, nothing else existed. The piles were soon completed and done, more spilling in, not as much as he was used too. Odd. Filed away, completed. A glance at the clock again. It nagged at him, something was different. Focus again as dispatchers reported, got assignments, were sent out to work. Some went to Personnel directly, it was appreciated, it lessened his workload. Something different.

A slightly irritated request to ask the secretary to leave. She was no longer necessary, why was she still here? The door closed, silence washed over him. Loneliness.

A realization, understanding. No touch of red today. No mindless chatter in his office, no invading of personal space, no flirting. And no unfinished paperwork. Good. It was time for Sutcliff to do his own work for a change. Time for him to stop procrastinate during the day. Time for him to stop bothering him. Yet…. Loneliness.

It was not like him at all. He had never acted like this before. Something stirring inside...worry? No of course not. But it distracted him from work. Sutcliff always found a way to distract him from his work. A sigh, a door closing. A short assured walk and another one opened. Green eyes meet green eyes. Yes, something was different today.


	8. Chapter 8 Anger

Blood red drops on his desk. Small drops, that had spilled from his finger, a small delicious sensation of pain. The giggle had faded and was replaced by silence. A silence filled with yearning, a yearning for more. Blood was whipped away with a soft paper, hands once again hidden beneath black gloves. Boredom turning to irritation. He knew why the irritation was there, it was born out of frustration. Frustration for everything he could not have, could not be, for the person he could not have.

Teeth gritted in his mouth. Without distractions his mind once again, as always, went to...he probably hadn't even noticed he hadn't visited him today. That his work had been done perfectly. That he had not been bestowed with his voice. Bastard. Brows furrowed, irritation turned to anger. He never cared for anything more than his damn work, never for him, never. Anger.

He must stop this, he needed to be rid of him, needed to concentrate. Why won't he look at me? Why won't he remember? Why won't he see me? Anger.

The door handle was turned and slowly opened. He would kill anyone coming into his office now. He would tear them limb from limb, how dare they intrude on his privacy? Anger.

Door removed to reveal...eyes meeting eyes. Staring, no word utter for too long of a time. Too long. It hurt, but anger still raged inside.

"What do you want?" said sharply, dismissively, almost snarled.

Hesitation, confusion, turned to coldness. "I only wanted to make certain you had not forgotten your work yet again Sutcliff". Hands pushing up glasses, cold eyes looking into his. For once, only into his, his alone.

"I have already done it, are you blind?" A hand indicating the finished papers on his desk. "Then again how would you know? You always were so social inept. I guess you can't even manage to ask that tramp of yours if it had been done." Anger stronger now. "It's not as if she could ever be a lady like me" muttered out through sharp teeth, muttered out with frustration and a hint of sadness.

Cold piercing eyes bore down into his soul. Cold eyes with a strain around them, hiding, holding back what could not be shown. "I am growing tired of reminding you of the fact that you are not a woman. Furthermore my social conduct is none of your concern." A small, almost unseen, change in the eyes. "And I can assure you I do not associate with women of…questionable reputation."

Eyebrow twitching, teeth barred in a fake smile. "O but of course you don't. William T. Spears is too good to lower himself to anything like that." Be mine, and mine alone. Let only me have you. "Such a gentleman you are. How odd you can't manage to have a relationship then." Let me have you. Be mine. No one else's. "Now if you would excuse me I have work to do." A dismissal, a question to leave. Not really meant, not wanting to be obliged. But anger, anger and frustration making him say words he did not mean.

Eyes staring, only staring, and that disappointed look again. Always that disappointed look. "My private life is none of you concern Sutcliff." Voice irritated. "Make sure to get the work done on time today." Eyes still staring, the silence stretching out between them. For a long time, far too long. For a moment, a fleeting moment it looked as if he was going to say something else. But he didn't. He did as he had asked and left. Even if he hadn't meant it.

* * *

><p>Memories stirred. Almost forgotten memories, unwanted memories, denied memories. Back then he had made him feel annoyance, irritation and for a fleeting moment gratitude. Then a solemn vow never to put himself in a situation when he would need his help again. Yet..<p>

Only the redhead could make him feel. It had been so obvious, so undeniable when he had seen him. He never let his feelings show, never let them affect him. He had seen him, not the happy, carefree, vibrant man he was. But angry, frustrated and condescending. And his hair…no matter. He did not care. But he did. It had affected him, he didn't know how, but seeing him like that had made him...feel like he had lost something.

When he talked to him he made him feel angry and frustrated. He could not understand him. What did he want? A small feeling of gratitude in his chest again, for making him feel anything at all. Absurd. But he made him feel something at least, if nothing else he could admit to anger and frustration. All caused by a touch of red...


	9. Chapter 9 Blood

Light green leaves covered the trees now; the snow had melted and revealed everything that had been hidden underneath. How absolutely wonderful to see the hidden things, not seen by anyone for such a long time. Hidden things.

If not anything else he had always been dedicated to his ideas. And he had kept up his farce, paperwork, done on time, to perfection. Another day of work at an end. A refusal to see his superior, talk when not strictly necessary, distance kept. Hidden things.

His beloved red coat hung in his wardrobe now, denied, unused. He could not bear to wear it when his heart no longer matched its undeniable expression of joy. Twirling of short hair between his fingers as he listened to Ronald rant about yet another conquest. Hidden things.

Advice given, a dismissive gesture to take part, a promise of his disinterest. Not truthful. A slight throbbing in his right hand, in his fingers. Distractions, he would take them anyway he could. A giggle escaped him. Just for a moment, eyes of slight concerned soon replaced by a responding laugh. O how lovely, a genuine laughter, he drank it in. A smile flashed.

The laughter slowly died down to a content silence, soon again filled with mindless chatter. It was nice. A distraction. Their supervisor's door opened, the man that never smiled, never laughed, never chatted mindlessly stepped out. Followed by a woman. Eyes beneath red hair hardening without awareness. A nod of the head, a dismissal, good. A small smile given in return, a light touch of the arm, given a frozen stare in reply. Fury. Mine!

An excuse to his friend, a swift departure. Excited eyes glued to his prey, yes she would pay now. How dare she touch what was his? Even if he could never have him, he was his, his alone. I'll kill you.

Clicking of heels against the floor, not many people around, a turn, she choose a shortcut. No people here at all.

Grin across his face, beloved chainsaw held tight, a fast move of the hand. O how does it feel to be pinned to the wall dear? How does it feel to be trapped? How does it feel? Face close to hers now. I want what you have, what I can't have. Give me what should have been mine.

So dull. I paint you in the most beautiful red. You'll be beautiful. "One should never touch what is not theirs, do you not agree?" a grin placed on his face, cold calculated eyes. "Such an improper way for a lady to behave, yes?" Tightening of the hand around her neck, so easy to break. A hesitated scared question of what he was talking about. Stupid girl. "Don't touch my man, you man thieving whore". Eyes widening in understanding, in confusion. "He is mine". A stutter, unable to force out words.

O how he wanted to make her bleed, but even so he let his grip lessen, listened to her words. An assurance he did not care for her, never had. She only helped him with the hearing, the hearing about the murdered prostitutes. He had succeeded in convincing the board of the accused's innocence. She only stayed because it was a great merit. She wouldn't tell anyone, she swore she wouldn't.

So dull, she would never be beautiful, even with the intoxicating color of red. A snarl, a fast removal of the hand, body falling to the ground. "Leave, run little rabbit before I change my mind." Dead eyes watch her leave. O how he had long to see her blood, see anyone's blood.

Experienced removal of the chainsaw, no longer needed. Bloodlust replaced with confusion. Confusion replace with a flicker of hope. He never cared for her. Heart beating a little faster. Grin turning into a genuine smile. He defended me. The red coat had always looked very good on him.

* * *

><p>He had always enjoyed leaving the work buildings, the fresh air a hint of a promise of that one day, he too could be free. As always he took his time, there was nothing waiting for him at home after all. A walk among the trees, always changing. He never changed, everything else did. After he had graduated he had believe Sutcliff would not change either. He had been wrong. The feeling of something lost had grown over the months since the redhead had shown up looking like his younger self. Looking, but with the experience and mentality he had gained over the years. Had he changed too? He did not know. Deep down he did not wish to know.<p>

Sutcliff had stopped seeing him, talking to him, touching him. Of course it did not matter. Not at all. But he had grown use to those actions over the years. Certainly he did not miss them, but it was a change in his routine. He did not like that. Not at all.

The red package still lay unopened in his apartment. Even more so now than before it was a token of what had been. What he had had. Had? He never had anything. He didn't want anything. Head lifted, looking around, seeing a building, not his own, someone else's. Flash of red in a window. Red. He didn't want anything at all. Surely. Nothing.

A knock on a door, why? Hand through hair, making sure it was still in place. Waiting. Wanting nothing at all. Door opening softly. A smile greeting him, inviting him, forgiving him. No words, just soft lips on his own. He wanted everything.


	10. Chapter 10 Impulse

_A/N - So from now on the rating is M, if you don't want to read, stay away. And I want to thank everyone for the reviews once more!_

* * *

><p>Crimson pillows on a couch, all to match the owners love for the color. As was the carpet, now shattered with black and white, the clothing making a huge contrast to its surrounding. It did not matter. Not anymore. Love<p>

Soft, warm lips on skin, gentle hands on skin, nearly controlled breath on skin. They were hesitantly returned, clumsily, unsure. Hands through dark hair, making it fall out of place, making it fall out of control, making if fall out of its restriction. The action return, fingers entwining in red locks, pulling closer. Love.

Minds lost in the moment as lips meet. A tongue brushing, a small consideration, mouth opening and another sensation altogether. A battle for dominance, always, and a consent. Hands over a narrow hip, flat chest, broad shoulders, strong back. Mimicked over a slim body, with a lean waist, thin arms. Love.

A gasp as a hand with painted nails trailed lower, brushing, touching, stroking. Mind-numbing pleasure never felt like this, paralyzing, just for a moment. Uncertainty of what to do. Hand trailing, doing the same. Meet with a moan, continued.

Eyes meeting eyes, filled with questions, filled with reassurance. Limbs placed clumsily, confused, not used to each other. A moment to get it right, a moment to adjust, a moment to understand. Assistance to place finger just so, meet with a cry, meet with desire, meet with trust. And a whispered confession of adoration. Love.

Confidence slowly building until hands and nails digging into skin, meet with displeasure. Soft fingers replacing them , soothing, encouraging. Heads spinning, legs shifting, an invitation. Hand removed, replaced, gently, but with eagerness. Anticipation, chests moving faster, hands gripping tightly. And finally two bodies becoming one, becoming whole.

A moment of stillness. Green eyes looking into each other, fluttering closed as lips meet once more. A movement, a cry, and hips trying to find a rhythm. Failing, not getting it right, trying again, growing more accustomed to each other. A confession of love against dark hair. Air leaving lungs more swiftly as sounds of pleasure filled the air. No one else in the world, only them , only this moment. Love.

Movements become more erratic, minds not able to control them any longer. A cry to loud in sensitive ears, a scratch to hard, a grip leaving bruises. A confession of love once more, before entwined bodies could not hold on any longer, giving in to pleasure.

A moment of stillness, of silence, of calming. Love.

* * *

><p>He gently brushed his beloved's hair out of his eyes, savoring the feeling of him against his body. Soft words of love were once again uttered, deeply honest words, felt for centuries. A wish for them to be return, meet with silence. Hands trailing over slightly damp skin, caressing. A beaming smile given but not returned.<p>

Cold eyes that had been filled with pleasure, with desire, now cold again. His body shivering under the gaze, eyelashes fluttering. A small giggle leaving his throat. A hand on his hip, removed as his William shifted and stood up. Wide eyes watched as clothes were replaced on his frame and hair combed back into its normal shape.

"I apologize Grell, I have made a mistake, forget this ever happened" said with a detached voice, a hint of sadness. The stoic man quickly made his way to the door.

"Wait...where are you going...don't..." a hand lifted, body getting up, voice growing louder. Door closing, sounding to loud in the lonely apartment. "...don't leave me", whispered, hand lowered, body sitting down slowly. Heart aching as a blanket was wrapped around his frail body, heart breaking as tears left his eyes.

* * *

><p>Legs walking much faster than usual, across the pavement, quickly leaving, quickly getting away. Thought whirled in his head as he tried to understand them. Why had he come there? Why? Desperation to be able to feel, desperation to let go. Only Sutcliff could ever make him let go. Make him feel.<p>

It had been a mistake, a selfish mistake. A selfish yearning to feel. But as Grell had confessed his love for him, once more, he could not do anything but believe him. It made it worse. He could not return that feeling, could he? No, he would never be able to feel anything like that. Surely not.

Trembling hand correcting a tie, eyes closing, seeing only red, seeing only a gently smiling redhead, words of love. And then eyes widening, a hint of fear, other word "Don't leave me"..."I am so sorry Grell." His response only thought, never uttered. When had he become "Grell" to him? When had he become the only thing he could think of? Why could he never understand him? Understand himself? It did not matter. Except this time, it did.

Please forgive me.


	11. Chapter 11 Despair

Grey light made small patterns over the roof. Made everything duller, made everything bleaker, made everything less red. Eyes stared up, hands clenched to a soft blanket, body curled to a smaller shape. Comfort. Eyes stared but could not see, hands clenched but could not feel, body curled but could not find peace.

He had been complete, for one small moment, for a fleeting moment, complete. Words never dared uttered in sincerity had been said, affection shown through soft hands and lips, hope shown through a smile. Crushed. Not returned. Unwanted.

Tears had long since dried on his cheeks, longs since disappeared, long since been denied. He was tired of crying, tired of feeling incomplete. His beloved William had come, had taken him, had loved him. For a moment, just a moment, then gone.

Numb fingers ran over a frail chest, beautiful painted nails dug into skin, ripping pale perfection. Pain. A sigh, a yearning, a surrender. Pain. Nails dug deeper. Red was such a beautiful color, and blood most of all.

If he could not have love, he would have pain. Love given, not returned. Pain inflicted, pain gained. He would cling to what he could, get what he could. Love was never for him, never to have, never to be given to him. Pain would be what he would take, have, be given.

Nail in skin, blood on skin. Not enough. His mind wandered, though of how to make this fill him like he had been earlier. To be complete. Not lost.

A man with dark hair, tall and handsome, pale skin. And eyes, eyes staring, red. Red eyes, not green. Green eyes would never look at him with love, never. Red eyes might look at him, not with love but at him, could give him pain. Yes, he would take pain from him and make him surrender, rip him open and see his exotic cinematic record. Make him bleed. Beg for mercy, crawl and lick his boots, adore him. Make me forget, distractions.

Pain, pain was all he would ever get; it would have to be enough, enough to make his heart beat. Hands once again ran over his body, mind remembering other hands doing the same, remembering. A smile, a sigh, eyes fluttering close. Perfect. It had been perfect. Only his, together. Love.

Blanket pulled closer, hiding a small body, hiding him. Head resting on a crimson pillow, eyes closed, not wanting to see. Green eyes flashing before him, dark hair unkempt, hands roaming, lips trailing, caresses. Touches hesitant, later more sure. A moment of utter bliss and then content silence. A dismissal, an apology and a departure. Why? What had he done wrong? What had he said wrong? Only words of love, nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong at all. Only honest, real and true. Not enough. The words were not enough, he was not enough. Hand clenching once more.

Red eyes, red eyes and a small smirk. Cold eyes and a mouth with fangs smiling, consuming, destroying. Yes, he would make him bleed, make him beg, take pain from him. Trying to be complete. Trying to be whole. Pain.

Love hidden away in his heart once more, locked away, not revealed. Never to be given away again, not to anyone, not for anything. Lies. It would always be given to cold green eyes. Tears.

* * *

><p>He sat still with his hands around a red package. A touch of red in his colorless apartment. A red package, all he had left. All he had. A fleeting moment of abandoning of feelings and then nothing. He had lost him. He had let him go. Why? Why could he not understand what he felt? Irritation, frustration, anger. Feelings often associated with a man with red hair.<p>

Other feelings, relief, contentment, calm, desire, pleasure. Seldom felt, but now also associated with red. Eyes closing, images behind his eyelids. He should never had gone there, never had tried to feel, never given in. Never.

Package replace on the table, still unopened, always unopened. The only thing he had left, only thing not lost. Always unopened. Lost.


	12. Chapter 12 Pain

Dark green leaves outside the window now, replacing those of spring. Everything replaced. Green with red. Love with pain. Black suit still adoring his frame, still highlighting his red hair. Hiding bruises, cuts and scars beneath. Hiding pain.

O how wonderful it was to be caught up in this sense of excitement. Always wondering if this moment was the last. Always wondering if he would be killed with his own death scythe. Fighting. It had been going on for months, this wonderful dance with his Romeo. And he was Juliette. Wonderful pain washing over his body as red eyes consumed him. Wonderful...but not enough.

Make-up hiding bruises and wounds on his face, a smile hiding everything. Red hair often now adored with red blood. Pale skin painted with black and red. Not enough.

Moments of leaving all other feeling but murder aside, moments of forgetting, moments of distractions, not enough. The memories always came back.. Green.

He had begun to visit his supervisor again, a few times, precious times. A moment of hope, a brief exchange of words in the office and disappointment. Always hope. Followed by an escape to red eyes and pain.

It always ended with disappointment with both of them. His love was not enough, his desire was not enough. Green and red. Not enough.

A new chance, a new try, hope. Meet with cold green eyes, staring, always staring. Looking deeper than any other. A hint of worry? Surely not. Not from him. A hand raise to touch dark hair, to touch a shoulder. Never raised high enough, always returning to his side. No words of love, but words of teasing and insinuations. Meet with a frown, meet with resignation.

Disappointment and a new chance, a new try, no hope. Red eyes staring, hands hitting, pounding, breaking. Meet with a giggle, insane and trapped. Black gloved hands swinging, thrusting, chopping. Chainsaw rearing, cutting , slicing. Beautiful red blood to paint a handsome face more so. Never able to see the thing most wanted. Never able to cut in half. Never able to finally kill and find release.

Red hair matted with red blood, red trail over a pale face. Lip broken, hand holding an arm, bleeding. Light limping for a moment and then silence, a crimson room with his belonging, his. And loneliness. No more distractions. Mind blurry, forgetful. Door left unlocked, chainsaw rested against a wall, bloody. Black long jacket placed on a white couch, falling, leaving red lines. Body dragging, walking slowly now. Mind tired, filled with memories. Pain. Fragile frame falling onto his bed, hand still holding his arm, not needed, wounds already beginning to heal.

Long eyelashes fluttering closed, mind dreaming, seeing a fantasy before him. A smile on his face, a gentle smile. A house, with a red roof, a garden, a white dog and him greeting a husband coming home. Smiling. A question put forth, suggestions, what would be preferred? A meal cooked with utmost care, a bath run for a weary tired body or him. To have and enjoy forever. Smiling.

Eyes opening, seeing only his own bedroom, a wardrobe door slightly opened, a hint of a red coat. Alone.

* * *

><p>Hands handed over paper, eyes looking up at the receiver, not seeing the brown hair and an ordinary face but red, red hair and long lashes, a sharp smile. A request to be left alone. Granted and eyes closing. Red everywhere. Why?<p>

His cold eyes had seen him fading over the months. Alarming bruises and cuts covered, only seen if you looked for them. Far too many. Far too often. He did not like it. Did not want to see them. Why?

Grell talked with him again, not as before but sometimes with a hint of teasing, a hint of insinuation. Like he had before, like he always had. It felt reassuring. It felt normal. Eyes opening, not seeing red. Only emptiness.

He knew who had given the redhead the bruises and wounds, he knew very well. Filthy creature, daring to touch a shinigami, dare to touch one of his subordinates, dare to touch his...At first he had gone to take care of the demon, a feeling of anger in his chest. Not wanting to see bruises or cuts any more. Hate. Never able to kill him, never able to make him go away. Hate.

A wonder why Grell kept seeing the filthy thing, kept flirting, kept adoring. Demons could not love, they only consumed and destroyed. Then again, he could not love either. Could he?

Realization that that touch of red had not been seen for a very long time, a glance at the clock, worry. A fight of conflicting yearnings and then an impulse. Touch of red.

Worry growing stronger when his hand meet the unlocked door of the one he wanted to see. Worry growing stronger still as eyes saw trails of blood on the couch and the jacket. Worry consuming as a body lay still on the bed. But breathing, eyes blinking, heads slowly turning to look at him. A flicker of hope. Touch of red.


	13. Chapter 13 Caring

Auburn lashes fluttered opened and looked over at a man clad in black, a man longed for, a man with worry in his eyes. Worry. He lay still and watched as he came closer, as he sat down on the bed, as he touched his arm gently.

"What have you done to yourself?", fingers brushing his arm, over a red spot on his shirt. "What have you let that filthy thing do to you?", fingers brushing a bruised cheek. "You are worth more than that, you deserve more than that", fingers over a cut lip. A hint of sadness in the voice.

Hands removing his vest and shirt to see the damage, eyes narrowing at the evidence of his pain. Gentle hands examining his head and face as well. His eyes closing, a soft sigh. A shifting and the man was gone. Confused eyes opened and searched, panicking, to find him returning. Gloved hands holding a bowl, holding bandages.

A soft cloth, damp with moisture on his skin, cleaning the wounds, taking the blood and pain away. Dark hair brushed into place and glasses adjusted before bandages where applied where they were needed. Not much of his pale skin was covered. Green eyes instead of red. Green beautiful eyes.

* * *

><p>He worked efficiently, focusing on the task at hand. Trying to push away what he actually was seeing. Skin marked, skin torn, skin wounded. His mind raced, figuring out what he was feeling, worry, relief and a hint of yearning. For what?<p>

He swallowed softly, understanding that perhaps this had been caused by his actions, that the lovely creature before him had let this happen. Because he had not been able to give him back what he wanted. Love. How did it feel? He did not know. When he felt it he was sure he would know. Yearning.

As he finished covering that skin with cloth he felt regret. Why could he not give him what he wanted? Light fingers on his neck, searching lips on his, grateful. Why could he not give him what he wanted?


	14. Chapter 14 Moments

_A/N - I want to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews once again, it means a lot to me. Only 3 more chapters after this one.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Emerald eyes looked at unmarked skin, green eyes looked at once pale skin. Thin fingers with painted nails gripping dark hair, bringing it closer, softly kissing lips. Return with a small hint of hesitation, before abandoned. Fingers caressing, exploring, tracing. Fingers remembering and repeating what had been desired.<p>

A heart, hurt, but desperate for this, clinging, holding on to the man before him. A heart, confused, unsure of this, yearning, desiring the man before him.

Dominance given and taken, back and forth, tongues tasting, hands feeling, eyes seeing, ears hearing. Minds savoring, remembering every detail. Treasuring this moment, this fleeting moment.

Hands wandering and lips kissing, nibbling, licking along skin, finding spots that was rewarded with gasps and moans. Limb shifting, moving, more used to each other, not awkward as before. Moving together to find comfortable positions together. Bodies wanting, wanting so much more.

Cold eyes turning softer, hands caressing gently over hurt skin, over bandages. Hurt eyes turning hopeful, holding onto the other in desperation, never wanting to let go. Wanting this moment to last forever. Forever.

Lips trailing lower to brush against a frail chest, sharp teeth nibbling at a neck, offered in trust. Bodies grinding against each other, causing sounds to spill through the room. Mind remembering and brushing, stroking. Red hair spilled back as a head was pushed back in pleasure.

A whimper as a lonely body was prepared, thrusting into with gentle fingers. A cry of ecstasy as they were replaced, filling him completely. Meet with a gasp and a shudder. Rhythm quickly found, matching each other. Fingers clutching at shoulders, at hips, careful not to break skin, careful not to hurt. Erratic breath against a neck and moans given in return. Hearts beating together, felt as distance between chests closed. Bodies shifting faster, harder. Back arching and a cry of bliss through sharp teeth and a dark head leaned back as the world shattered.

Labored breathing and gentle caresses. Shifting once again and a torn body were pulled against a strong, protective one. A heartbeat against a lean back. Eyes closing, hands holding onto each other.

* * *

><p>He held onto William's hands, held them over his chest. Can he feel my heart? Beating for him, for me. A feeling of desperation not wanting to leave, a sense of something slowly slipping away. Please don't leave me. Stay with me, stay with me forever. Please.<p>

He could not stop his body from tensing, from growing stiff, from his heart beating faster. Hands clenched onto the others grip. Please don't leave me.

* * *

><p>A smaller body against his chest, a beating heart against his hands. He sighed and let his face fall into red hair. His breathing softer now, his arms holding the other, protecting him.<p>

Suddenly Grell tensed, stiffen, his grip growing harder. Why? They lay like that for a long time, the moment from before gone, was that regret? Why can't I give you what you want? He lay still and watched as a head adored with red fell down more into the pillow, as breathing became calm, as sleep took the one before him. He carefully removed his hands, sat up, covered him with a blanket. Carefully. Green eyes looking down in sadness. A dark suit covering a numb body. Hair brush back into place as a gloved hand closed the door. Why can't I give you what you want?


	15. Chapter 15 Yearning

Orange and yellow leaves fell from the trees. Everything was dying now, dying and going to sleep. A head crowned with bright red hair blended well together with the leaves on the ground. Eyes closed, breathing slow. A moment of peace. Of silence. Memories.

His body was still covered with bruises, with red lines. They did not hurt as much anymore. Pity. Demonic hands could no longer satisfy his need for pleasure, for distractions. For pain. O well, a little playing was always welcomed, always fun, always exciting.

Some wounds were covered with soft, clean white cloth. Placed there by sure hands, with utmost care, almost tenderly. Almost. Moments when cold eyes turned soft, followed by desire and everything afterwards. Always followed by a return to the way things had been before, always followed by a departure. Always.

His desperation, yearning, wish for his dear William allowed it, again and again. He always tried to hide it, but afterwards he could never hold it back, growing stiff in warm hands. Hoping against hope that this time, just this once, he would not leave. He always did. Always.

His heart had slowly got use to this. This routine, he would have what he could, what he was given. Yet...he wanted more. Wanted someone seeing only him, existing only for him, loving only him. Adoring him, worship him, loving him. A small smile, hand brushing away straying leave from the brown west.

But the thing he wanted most was words. Even if a body could convey thing a repressed mind could not, he needed words. A body could not lie, but he could not lie as well, like he himself could, he wanted words. Words of love, words of assurance, words of promise of a future. O how he needed that. Wanted that.

Hand lifting a leaf to the sun, watched how the light shone through, showing veins in the texture, the thing that had nourished it. Had kept it alive. If only everything could be shown so easily. As much as he acted, as much as he kept up appearances, he was always alone. Alone with his wish to be something else, giving life, have everything he deserved. No one had ever cared enough to look that deep, looking for it at all. Wanting to understand. Leaf turned, making an eye squinted shut at the light.

Deep down he really was unsure, had a fragile mind and self-esteem. His confidence was the only thing that kept it hidden, away from sight. He had always been such an amazing actress. Leaf fell to the ground, mind bored with it. Eyes closing again. Playing memories. Lingering on memories. All he had.

A cold breeze, a frown. He lifted himself of the ground and stood, heels digging into the ground, black coat flowing slightly. He missed his red coat, so pretty, so beautiful. It had been a part of him, had been his joy, his happiness. Locked away now, hidden, denied. Wanting, waiting for someone to let it out again. Waiting.

* * *

><p>Eyes glancing at a stack of papers, watched as it grew smaller. Mind quickly absorbing facts, processing faults, finding solutions. File after file filled to perfection. Paper after paper completed and removed. Work, there was always work. Constant, never changing, monotone.<p>

A feeling that something was missing, something not made complete in his life. Mind absorbing knowledge of the redhead's behavior, about his words, about everything. Mind processing the facts and trying to figure him out. Mind failing to find a solution. Failing to understand him completely. Why? Why can't I understand you?

His conduct with Grell was very unprofessional outside the office. Yet he could not stop from time and time again returning to tend to wounds and cuts. Tend and trying to understand. Failing and then feel a small tension, leaving, not wanting to upset him further.

He was aware of others in the office having relationship with colleagues. It appeared to work well with their work, not interfering more than anything else. Yet...they were subordinates, they did not have his responsibilities, his restrictions. Relationship...was that what he wanted? Did Grell?

No, work was all he had, the only place where he felt completely sure, completely certain, could act as he knew how. No embarrassing moments, no silly moment when he found he did not know what to do. He could not stand moments like that, when he felt unsure. Yet soft words and hands were always given to reassure him it was fine, that it was normal, that he would learn. Why did the redhead bother? Why did he keep pushing him into those situations in their moments together? Why can't I understand him?


	16. Chapter 16 Gift

Ivory snow laid on the ground, fell from the sky. Made a small wall against his window. He did not look outside, his eyes were focus on an album in his hands. Eyes reflecting the light from the fire he had lit. Consuming fire, dancing, uncontrolled. It had the same color as his hair.

A page turned carefully, eyes trailing over memories captured in time. A lopsided grin and a red coat. A blond next to him laughing. It had been a good party. A cheerful face, hands holding a camera. A dark haired butler next to him, looking away. Memories.

His face adored many pictures, always smiling, always happy. Page turned. An adoring face, a blush on cheeks. An impression less face with cold eyes, turned away. Fingers trailed the corners of the page. Look at me.

Green eyes tracing every page, every memory, remembering, never wanting to forget anything, never wanting to let go of anything that had made him who he was. Few pages left. Pictures of a young man. Short red hair. Naive. Pictures of another. Messy hair. Indecipherable. For those that could not see. His younger self beamed at him, clutching a black clad arm, head resting on a shoulder, not spared a glance. Look at me.

The album left open on the table, left behind. Fire flickering in the fireplace as he made his way to the window. Snow fell gently. Today was a special day, he had been given glasses, given his identity. Fingers touched the beads hanging from his spectacles lovingly. So many years ago. A love found and yet unrequited. He could not give up, he could not.

He let his hand rise to brush his hair over his shoulder; it was longer now, still short, but longer now. As insistent as his hair grew so did his hope. That one day, one day he would be loved for who he was, understood and accepted.

Head turning from the window once more, slowly sitting down on the couch, wrapping a blanket around him. Wishing for strong arms around him, a warm body close. No loneliness. Blanket wrapped tighter, a small shiver, the warmth from the fire not enough.

It truly was wonderful, to feel that such a cold man could have such warm hands, warm breath. Warm. The only one that could challenge him. Fight him for dominance. Make him want to try harder, to prove himself. So wonderful. A push, a silent command for him to do better, to be better. A challenge.

Eyes watching the fire dance, back and forth, ever-changing. Never the same as before, a surprise at every turn. A small smile. Red hair shone, like fire. If properly controlled, the most beautiful thing in the world. If properly understood, the most caring thing in the world. If properly loved, the most loving thing in the world.

Eyes going back to the album, laid open on a table with pictures placed just so. Memories kept and carefully arranged. Memories kept forever. A blank space among memories, a place where a picture had been removed. Memory still kept, still remembered. His eyes turned resigned, but a flicker of hope, deep down in the green. Always.

* * *

><p>He walked forward, raised a hand and stopped. Was this the right thing to do? A glance to the side, looking at the fire, always so intriguing. Red was always so intriguing. Uncontrollable and changing, exciting in a life never changing. Never ending. Changing. A soft sigh, something he needed, wanted. Longed for. A touch of red.<p>

A decision had to be made; he needed to make a decision. Hand rose again, picking up the red package, kept for such a long time. Because of memories, because of a longing to keep them. Carefully placed on a table, shining ribbon removed. Placed to the side, to be kept, always. He had to let go. Hands starting to unwrap the paper, bright red, had to let go. Memories would still be there, still be remembered. Fingers gently smoothing out a flood of red to reveal the content. A sharp breathe and eyes fixed on the gift. Given to him a year ago, given to him by Grell. Given to him to remember.

A picture, place inside a frame. The frame a deep red, with cravings, beautifully made. For someone cared for. Resting on the picture a snowflake inside a tiny vial with liquid, kept forever, never dying, never going away. Removed to reveal the picture in full. A beaming redhead clinging to the arm of a calm dark haired man. Happiness and joy shining in green eyes beneath red hair. Happiness and joy filling the eyes of the calm man as well. For those that knew how to see it. For those knowing him well enough. Only one person knew him like that. Only one.


	17. Chapter 17 Hope

_A/N - This is the last chapter, it feels kind of sad to leave this fic behind but I hope all of you have enjoy it!  
><em>

* * *

><p>A touch of red beside a pair of gloves. Glasses adjusted and black jacket hurriedly put on. Hands wrapped in gloves and picking up the item laying next to it. A door opening, closing again, leading out to gentle snow falling down outside. The mirror forgotten, the hair out of place. Not noticed, not important. Red.<p>

Decision made on the way, made years ago, without realizing. Realizing what the feeling he felt was when he saw the redhead was. Never uttered, could not be uttered, he could not. But felt, always felt, always would be felt. Even if he could not say it. Red.

* * *

><p>A touch of red adoring a resting head on a lap. Arms wrapped around legs to keep warm. Wanting something never to be gained. Wanting someone always to have, always. Never to be left, abandoned. Wanting love. Heart still hopeful, always. Red.<p>

A knock on his door, red head lifting, wondering. Blanket removed, the shiver from the cold ignored. Feet trailing carefully over a lush carpet, up to his front entrance. Hesitation. A quick intake of breath and he let the door opened. Wind ruffling his hair a bit. Red.

* * *

><p>Eyes mirrored in color staring into each other. A silence, not awkward, comfortable. Entrance granted and suit jacket offered. A gentle kiss placed on red painted lips, unexpected but accepted. With hope, with love.<p>

A gift given, in return for memories, in return for feelings. In return for love given. Accepted with silence, accepted with gratitude

A single red rose, for words never spoken, for words that could not be spoken, for love. And a heart, freely given, as much as it could be. A red rose. A touch of red.


End file.
